BRINGING BENJY HOME

by Kylie Brant

  Trey got into the car, and they headed back to the interstate. "I bought you something to eat." He nodded toward the sack. "There's string cheese, potato chips and some candy bars. I figured your appetite alarm is due to go off any minute."

  Jaida smiled unwillingly. "Thanks."

  She made no move toward the sack, and he gave her a concerned look. "You're not sick, are you?"

  She almost smiled again at his suspicious tone. "No, I'm not sick."

  He frowned at her answer, but she didn't embellish on it. They drove on in virtual silence again, and he used the time to try to figure out what was behind her unusual behavior. Had he offended her last night with that kiss? It hadn't seemed so then, and he had been as attuned to her reactions as he had to his own. It had been a stupid move on his part, enacted for the sheer pleasure of it and nothing else. It had been so long since he'd done something unplanned, uncalculated, that he was having trouble accepting it now. He'd wanted to elicit that exciting electrical current that jumped between them each time they'd touched. And he'd wanted more than that. He'd wanted to see if that current would transfer to her veins, if the response went any deeper than the surface. He'd gotten his answer and more.

  He'd spent most of his adult life masking the wildness of his nature. As a youngster he'd struck out at the world in any way he could, to make it pay for the losses in his life. His mother, his sister, his home … all had been taken away by the time he was ten. Everyone he encountered owed him something for that, or so he'd believed. It wasn't until he'd met Colonel Lambert, and later started a career in the army, that he succeeded in developing an iron control, which he wielded most unbendingly on himself.

  The first to lose control loses. The colonel's words, spoken to him as a surly fifteen-year-old, had stuck with him ever since. He'd learned that lesson well over the years. And he prided himself on never losing control.

  But last night it had evaporated. Jaida West wasn't like the women he entered into relationships with. She wasn't sophisticated and polished, with artful conversation and attention-getting ploys. And he was betting that she didn't have a wealth of experience with men to draw from. That knowledge, accompanied by the intense physical response between them, had torched his own desires.

  He knew too well that a man who wasn't in control of himself could scarcely hope to control his surroundings. And yet, for the few brief moments he'd been pressed close to Jaida, he hadn't been in control.

  He hadn't recognized the strange compulsion he'd had to force her to admit the response she had to him, to demand she tell him it was experienced solely with him. And he wasn't comfortable with the deep satisfaction her admission had elicited and the compelling need to explore it further.

  He should never have touched her. Not because it hadn't been planned and had served no useful purpose in the search for his nephew. And not because it had represented such a departure from a lifetime of careful habit. But because now it would be impossible to forget the feel of her or the taste. And he'd never get rid of the mental picture of her sprawled out over the slick, inky backdrop of his own sheets.

  "Where to?" he fairly snapped when they came to the next town. He glanced sharply at Jaida. She hadn't said a word since he'd stopped to buy the food, nor had she touched the sack. Although with the top up he found it rather warm in the car, she had her legs drawn up and the sweater wrapped around her knees.

  "South," she murmured, not bothering to look at him. Her head was relaxed against the seat again.

  "You're sure you're okay?" he questioned gruffly. "You shouldn't be cold. It's eighty-four degrees outside, warmer than yesterday. Maybe you're getting the flu."

  The chill permeating her bones had nothing to do with the temperature or illness, but she wondered how to explain that to him. "We're getting nearer," she replied quietly. "The colder I get, the closer I'll know we're getting."

  He involuntarily lifted his foot from the accelerator, stunned at her words. "What do you mean, we're getting nearer?" he croaked.

  Her eyes behind her glasses were shut. She was so tired. Normally she needed long hours of rest after being buffeted by psychic storms, but she'd gotten precious little of that since Trey had come into her life. "Just keep driving," she said. She didn't need to have her eyes open to recognize the place when she came to it. The recognition would seep into her bones with a deep, pervasive cold impossible to overlook. She just hoped that what they would find when they finally arrived wasn't going to tear the Garrison family apart with pain.

  Trey pressed down on the accelerator more firmly, and the car spurted forward. Calling himself all kinds of fool, he couldn't discount the anticipation building in his gut. Logic still wanted to insist that Jaida West was a fraud. But logic couldn't explain her forays into his mind, her inexplicable knowledge of things he kept tightly locked away from others. That knowledge made her a threat, to his cautious defenses and his carefully managed life. He couldn't help hoping her ability would prove as accurate in this instance. Even as his rational mind jeered at him, the speedometer steadily climbed. And the car continued in the direction she'd indicated.

  * * *

  "We have to walk from here."

  He turned to look at her, instantly uneasy at the picture she made. She was completely still, her cheeks ashen. He was about to question her again about the state of her health, but in the next moment she opened her car door and got out. Not waiting for him, she started swiftly toward the beach.

  Trey easily caught up with her and they walked in silence down the picturesque boardwalk, until she came to a stone wall about three feet high that separated the street from the sandy beaches.

  Jaida leaned forward slightly, her gaze sweeping the beach slowly, before coming to rest on a spot a hundred yards away. She stared for so long and so fixedly that Trey involuntarily followed the direction of her gaze, a chill prickling his spine. There was nothing of interest to see there, as far as he could observe. Children played noisily, couples sunned together and the odd brightly colored parasail dotted the sky overhead.

  There was no toddler, large for his age, with a shock of dark hair and a babyishly charming grin.

  Disappointment surged through him, strong and bitter. "Jaida." His voice was harsh. "Go back to the car."

  She moved, but not in the direction he'd ordered. Instead, she turned away and started up another street.

  "This is ridiculous. You can't expect me to believe that … dammit, come back here." He strode after her. "Where are you going now?"

  "I'm walking around the town." The same streets that someone had strolled Benjy through, past the same stores, the same buildings. She never bothered to look at him. "You can go back to the car and wait if you wish." She neither noticed nor cared whether he followed.

  It was a quaint town, one maintained primarily for the tourists it attracted during the summer months. They passed eateries, arcades and laundries. Jaida never hesitated before any of them. She trudged past the antique stores and souvenir stands. Finally she came to a stop.

  Trey gave her a wary look. "What is it?"

  "In there." Her breath left her with a visible shudder and she pulled her sweater closer around her. She was an oddity on the street, with most people milling around in swimsuits and tank tops.

  He gazed past her and frowned. "An ice-cream shop? You want to stop for ice cream now?" His voice was disbelieving.

  She pulled open the door and went inside. The air conditioner in the small shop hummed. A man with brown hair and a mustache wiped off the counter in front of him with a lazy purpose that spoke of a slow day. He looked up as the bell over the door signaled their arrival.

  "What can I get you folks?"

  Trey glanced at Jaida, but she said nothing, seemingly frozen in place. Her breathing was noticeably labored.

  "We got over forty flavors," the man behind the counter offered. "They're all up on the sign. And we're running a special. If you want to sample the new trial flavor, you can suggest a name for
it. Winner of the best name will get a gallon of ice cream each month for a year." He slung the rag he'd been cleaning with over his shoulder. Long moments stretched and he glanced puzzled, from Trey to Jaida and back. "You guys want something, or what?"

  "Your lost and found." Jaida's voice sounded hoarse and strained. "Do you have one?"

  The man didn't answer, appearing to find her manner odd. After a swift look at Jaida's white, set features and trembling lips, Trey stepped in. He gave the man a rueful smile. "Sorry. We're not here for ice cream, at least not this time. We were here—" his hesitation was barely noticeable "—a couple of days ago. My … wife lost something, and she's hoping she left it here that day. What do you do with lost items?"

  The man seemed to accept Trey's explanation with alacrity. "We've got a box in the back room. We keep things for about a month. You wouldn't believe what we find in here. Craziest things…" His words were lost as he entered the back room. He returned moments later with a large box. "Go ahead and look through this stuff if you want. There's nothing real valuable in here, although there have been times we've found wallets, rings, ladies' purses, the works."

  Jaida focused on the box he was holding out to Trey. She remained rooted in place. After a glance toward her, Trey took the box from the man and set it on the floor in front of him. Cursing silently, he started going through the items, unsure even what to pretend to be searching for. The man had been right; there was all manner of odds and ends in the box. Beach towels, sunglasses, hats and, inexplicably, a bikini top. Then his hand faltered in its search. Slowly, disbelievingly, he pushed aside the rest of the items and grasped what he'd at first thought was another towel. Freeing it from the rest of the junk, he drew out a small blanket.

  It wasn't the sort of thing one would expect to take to the beach. It was small and quilted, printed with a selection of friendly animals, all smiling merrily. The colors had faded from their original state of primary brightness, and one end was looking rather ragged. It brought an immediate sense of recognition to his gut, and a hard knot formed in his throat.

  It was the same blanket his nephew had clutched in his fist every day since he'd begun to crawl.

  Trey's eyes slowly lifted to meet Jaida's.

  It was the same blanket that had been in Benjy's stroller the day he'd vanished.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  "I've already told you, Detective, it doesn't just look like Benjy's blanket, it is his. I'm certain of it." Trey paused to listen to the man's response on the phone. His voice lost all semblance of civility. "Yes, it was purchased commercially, and no, I don't have any idea how many blankets just like that were sold. But one corner of Benjy's blanket was getting frayed, and this blanket has the same…" After a brief pause he said harshly, "What the hell do you mean, coincidence? What's it going to take to convince you?"

  The one-sided conversation drifted clearly through the open French doors. Jaida sat outside the motel room on a small terrace overlooking a Tidy-Bowl blue pool. The sun was fading in glorious splendor, but the beauty of her surroundings was lost on her. She wanted to put her head down on the plastic white table in front of her and be sent off into immediate, oblivious slumber. She didn't move. Sleep, if it came at all, would be impossible for many more hours.

  It took an enormous effort to turn her head enough to see Trey profiled in the room, his expression forbidding. "For a man who's come up with nothing so far on the disappearance of my nephew, you're damn casual about the first real lead we've got in this case." He listened for another moment, then snarled dangerously, "Fine. I'll Express Mail it to you tomorrow morning. And I want you to pass this information along to the Bureau. Maybe they'll take it more seriously than you do." He replaced the receiver with an audible bang.

  Trey seemed to have forgotten her presence. He wheeled around agitatedly, and his gaze fell upon the crumpled child's quilt lying on the top of the bed. With footsteps slow and measured, he moved to the bed and reached down to pick it up. His fingers clenched on the soft, worn material, and the muscles in his jaw worked reflexively. He sank down on the edge of the bed and dropped his head, Benjy's quilt clutched in his big hand.

  The poignancy of the scene brought Jaida out of her psychic-induced lethargy. Her heart ached for him. The sight of that dark head, so proud and confident, bent in sorrow stirred something in her she didn't dare name. But it was impossible to see Trey in pain and not wish to offer comfort.

  She approached him silently and dropped to her knees in front of him. He didn't look at her. For a long time they were both quiet. His voice, when it came, sounded rusty.

  "Lauren was three years old when our mother died. I was eight. She'd never been much of a mother, but she'd given me Lauren. I vowed then that nothing in this world was ever going to hurt my sister. She wasn't going to learn how ugly life could be, because I was going to do whatever it took to take care of her." The sigh he gave seemed ripped out of him. "I was cocky, big for my age and an accomplished thief. I could handle our drunk of a father, could steal enough food for the two of us, but I was no match for the great social system that supposedly rescues kids from unhealthy homes. We knocked about in foster homes for about a year and a half."

  "Your father?" she whispered, remembering with clarity the startling image she'd had once through an accidental touch.

  "Signed over his rights after he'd been charged with abuse and neglect. When I was ten Lauren was adopted by a couple who thought incorrigible was stamped on my forehead." One side of his mouth pulled up in a parody of amusement. "They were probably right. The last sight I had of Lauren was of the social worker pulling her away while she had her arms stretched out to me, crying." It had taken three adults to hold him back, to keep him from chasing after his sister. And after that, no adults, no foster home, could keep him when he chose to run. And he'd chosen to run often.

  The expression in his eyes was terrible to see. Jaida had often wished she could tear through his guarded defenses, read the emotions she knew he must feel. But being faced now with his agony was heartbreaking.

  "I failed her," he said in a low tone. "I promised to protect her, but I couldn't. I thought I had a second chance when I found her again and Benjy was born. And then Benjy was kidnapped."

  Her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision. She blinked rapidly, determined not to let them fall. "I heard you on the phone with that detective," she murmured, her voice trembling. "Trey, it doesn't matter what he thinks. I know this blanket belongs to Benjy. I know he was on that beach, in that ice-cream store." She shook her head helplessly. "I realize you didn't believe me at first—"

  "I believe you," he interrupted her, his voice almost soundless. He could read the confusion and the hope in her eyes. And something else, something much more intriguing. "God knows, I don't want to. I don't pretend to understand this, but I have to believe what I can see, what I can touch." He raised his hand, indicating the soft quilt. "I don't need fancy tests and lab work to tell me what I'm holding in my hand. And all the lab work in the world won't explain how you knew where to go, how to find what we did."

  She looked away. The yearning was obvious in her voice. "Some things have to be taken on faith."

  "I'm not a man to whom faith comes easily."

  She turned her head slowly to meet his gaze again. No, he wasn't a man given to putting his faith in people or things. Life had taught him to depend only on himself. It was easy to understand why after hearing some of the events that had shaped his childhood. And that made his professed belief in her all the sweeter.

  "I can't fail again," he said hoarsely. "Not this time. Too much is at stake. Lauren's happiness…"

  Benjy's life.

  The rest of the sentence wasn't uttered, but they both heard it nonetheless. Their connection was beginning to seem so normal that it was hard to remember how unusual it was, how frightening. How … tempting.

  "Benjy is alive," Jaida whispered, her lips trembling. S
he reached her hand out involuntarily, touching, his knee lightly, for once failing to guard herself against a casual touch. Her instinct to comfort was far greater than her need to protect herself. "And we won't fail. We won't."

  Trey stared at the delicate hand resting on his leg. He wanted to believe her words, but knew that he'd have to hold his young nephew again before the fear would be completely banished. He'd have to put Benjy in his mother's arms, and then he'd see to it that the people who'd torn their lives apart were punished. He wouldn't be satisfied until they were destroyed, as they had tried to destroy his family.

  The feminine hand on his knee shook, and he was reminded with a rush that Jaida touched no one. Not willingly. His gaze traveled from that fragile white hand back to her face. He set the quilt on the bed next to him. Then his own hand covered hers.

  Panic flared for a second in her eyes, before it was tempered by wariness. He guessed the exact moment she would pull away, both from him and from the touch that caused flickers of energy to prickle their skin. He tightened his hand over hers before she could move, then moved his other hand to her shoulder. He leaned toward her, urging her forward at the same time.

  He was close enough to count the golden flecks in her mysterious blue eyes, and their mouths were only inches apart. "I don't pretend to understand this," he rasped. "I don't pretend to be comfortable with it. But if you're the only chance I have to find Benjy, then by God, that's a chance I'm going to take."

  "We will find him," she promised tremulously, She wasn't sure whether her certainty stemmed from her visions or from a continued need to provide him solace. Providing him solace could be dangerous. It could encompass all sorts of things she could only guess at. The remembrance of her inexperience served as another reminder of the seductive danger she was courting, now, with this man.